


(there's something in you) i can't be without

by Nyxierose



Series: not to disappear [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's not the bloodrush that makes her feel good.</p><p>(Octavia-centric, missing scene of sorts during 1x07)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(there's something in you) i can't be without

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on tumblr @ [electricbluebutterflies](http://electricbluebutterflies.tumblr.com).

Blood is not supposed to be beautiful, but she's learned different.

There weren't a lot of outlets in her previous situation, okay? Octavia is resourceful, and a few years ago she learned that, somewhat ironically, physical pain makes her life suck less. It's not a frequent habit, but sometimes the urge hits and she ends up with a nice new cut on her stomach. She's careful about it, never too deep or too vital or too anything, and her lattice of scars is unpretty but it's _hers_ , only thing she's ever had to be proud of.

Honestly, self-destruction is one of two things she's genuinely good at, and she was not betting on that being useful at any point in her little life. Boy was she wrong.

She has to. That's all she knows for sure - she's getting damn sick of watching this beautiful man go through hell, she's pretty sure there's nothing in the world that could break him, and for some very weird reason he seems to like her. She tried to knock him out with a rock and he still likes her enough to save her ass, which is probably the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her, and the mess he's in _now_ is directly her fault and… hey, if the poison's still on the knife, this is a pretty damn good plan.

Nobody's watching close enough to notice she knows _exactly_ what she's doing when the blade makes contact with her skin. Years of practice have led up to this, to the sweet rush of pain and the calming sight of her own red blood blossoming and the primal scream of the only person in the world she currently likes, and she's all but drowned in the beauty of it.

C'mon, she silently pleads as she points to the vials. C'mon.

She won't use any for herself, she knows that before she even fully solves the problem. She cut just enough to bleed, not enough to do damage, and it doesn't hurt any more than a normal cut would. Whatever's on that goddamn knife, it's not going to linger in her body and she's willing to risk it. She is not afraid.

It feels too good, this rush. Better than it usually does when she takes a sharp object to her softness, better than usual as the blood leaves her body. Maybe it's different here on the ground, the air reacting differently with her skin or something. She wants to feel this way forever.

As soon as she's sure he's safe, or at least as safe as he's gonna get under the tragic circumstances, she runs. There's no way to chase it here, nothing that won't be noticed, but Octavia's got plans. She's got a safe place on the perimeter, first home she's ever had of her own free will, somewhere she knows no one will look for her. In another few weeks, she'll have a nice little nest there and she might even be happy; for now, it's secluded and she's got a shard of metal hidden away in her bedding for such a time as this and that's all she can think about as she finds her way.

She's not sure what made this time different from all the others, but she figures the location might be part of it. Stomach used to be good, stomach was the most hidden part of her body, but forearm is so visible and yet she doesn't _care_. She lies back on her bedding, reaches around until she finds her improvised blade, and runs her fingers over the skin for a few moments. It'll be a pretty scar in the morning - she's got a collection of those now, first on her leg from the river serpent and now on her arm from her sacrificial heart. It's beautiful beautiful, not bleeding anymore but still so sore and still so good-feeling. She wants that again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Four feels right, four is enough blood to distract her, four is all she can manage before her stomach starts twisting.

"So much for immunity," she mutters, but nothing comes of the weird feeling.

Five. Cut five is a little deeper and sets something off inside her. Five is when she starts crying, five is when she curls into a ball, as tiny as can be and a shattered mess of a girl. Five is when the blood doesn't feel good anymore, five is when exhaustion takes her, five is when she gives up.

Five is what it takes for her to close her eyes and pray to whatever's out there to just make this all stop.

She's out for a while, a blankspace sleep instead of the nightmares she's already so used to, no dreams except a brief flash of what the man might look like if he ever smiled. Peaceful, almost, more than she knew was possible.

When she wakes, the first thing she sees is her arm. It takes her a few moments to remember the last day or so, the series of events that led to the one good cut and the five shakier ones, and then it's all she can do to keep from throwing up.

The cuts didn't help. For once in her life, her blood wasn't beautiful.

No, she realizes, the sweet rush of yesterday was from something else entirely. Not from her voluntary pain but from the reason she committed that act in the first place. For once, from another person.

There was a moment, she thinks. Not the moment she took the knife but the moment _after_ , before finding the antidote but after her skin was exposed. There was a moment and she locked eyes with the man and she saw an entire future, something she could fight for, something she could want. At the time, she ignored it, blaming what she felt on the bloodrush. Twelve hours later, she knows better.

He's a mystery at best, she knows, a first taste of a world unknown and a thousand questions she wishes she could ask. He's never said a single word around her but she knows he understands everything, she just _knows_ , and she wants to get him alone and say sweet things because she's never seen a person so deserving. He had chances to let her die but he saved her twice, he only wanted to _help_ even though there was nothing in it for him and she didn't know anyone could ever be capable of that sort of kindness.

She doesn't know him yet, but she knows he's a good man and she knows he _sees_ her.

That was the rush, Octavia realizes. Not pain but the opposite. The feeling, the first fleeting glances, of actually being wanted.

She's going to get him out, she decides, if it's the last goddamn thing she does. It's the least she can offer in return.


End file.
